The chamber had grown colder.
It wasn't the torches, Nysha had extinguished them hours ago, leaving the underground hall in near-total darkness. The only glow came from the thin sheen of mana coiling around her fingertips and the faint, sinister hum of Zerathis. Shadows stretched across the cracked stone floor like pools of black water, bending unnaturally toward the cursed blade in Lindarion's grasp.
Nysha stood with her arms folded, her voice even, patient. "You've hidden. You've erased. Now you'll walk."
Lindarion's eyes narrowed. "Walk where?"
"Through," she said simply.
He tilted his head, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "You mean teleportation."
